


Pushing buttons

by fleurlb



Category: Happy Valley (TV)
Genre: Friendship, Gen, Mentors, Yuletide Treat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-24
Updated: 2017-12-24
Packaged: 2019-01-17 05:13:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12358212
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fleurlb/pseuds/fleurlb
Summary: After an incident with a scrote, Catherine takes Ann out for some non-traditional mentoring.





	Pushing buttons

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Philomytha](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philomytha/gifts).



“Can you tell me, in your own words, what happened?” asked Catherine, looking over the top of her glasses, her pen poised above the incident report form. 

Ann looked up and sat up straighter. “I had a look in the garage, while Shaf questioned the suspect. When I found the locked door, I came out and asked for the key. That's when the suspect failed the attitude test.”

Catherine's smile was small and wry. “A failed attitude test doesn't usually result in a hefty torch smashing someone in the goolies.” 

Ann leaned forward and hissed. “He grabbed my ass.”

“Oh, that's a completely different matter then. That's assaulting a police office. That's not failing an attitude test... Also, that whole attitude test thing, it's more of an internal compass, not something you put in an official report.” 

“Well, he did. And I just...the torch was still in my hand from investigating the garage. It was more of a reflex, than anything else.”

“And you were standing outside the garage, in the lane, when this happened?”

Ann nodded. 

“Well, then this shouldn't be a problem. Shaf and the CCTV will no doubt back you up. You might be ordered to take some de-escalation training, but all that will be decided by them upstairs. I can only write the report.”

“Thank you,” said Ann, sinking back in her chair.

“Yeah, all that's with my sergeant hat on. With my friend hat on, I'm going to tell you to be ready on Saturday at 10am. Wear some gym gear.”

*** *** *** *** *** *** 

Ann waited outside at the road for Catherine. She didn't want to answer a pile of questions from Nev, not when she didn't really have any answers. She knew it was sad, but these days, she tried to talk to him as little as possible. She just couldn't manage his feelings on top of her own. She was barely treading water as it was.

Catherine pulled up, and Ann got into her car. 

“Where are we going?” 

“Good morning to you too,” said Catherine as she made a u-turn and headed back into Halifax. 

“Are you even going to give me a hint?”

“Wouldn't you rather have a surprise?”

“Funny thing about surprises – I used to love them, but now, the older I've gotten, it seems a surprise is just as likely to be a punch in the face as a present.”

“Interesting choice of words,” murmured Catherine. She smiled, sphinx-like, and Ann knew she'd be getting nothing out of her. So she slumped against the window and watched the countryside slide by, houses eventually clumping together until they were in the town. Catherine made several turns and ended up on the edge of an industrial wasteland that Ann didn't think she'd ever seen before.

“Is this where you leave me for dead?” joked Ann. 

“Nah, although there've been sessions here where I wished I were dead,” replied Catherine, pulling up in front of a low-slung warehouse that had a sign out front: Bob's Boxing Club.

“Who's Bob?”

“You're awfully impatient. All will be revealed.” Catherine got out of the car and waited for Ann to follow her into the boxing club. 

Inside, the dim space had a section of free weights and another section of punching bags. A woman pounded the heavy bag while another lifted weights. Two rings sat at the end of the building, one empty and one occupied by a wiry girl of about 12 and an insistent trainer. 

“Morning, Bob,” said Catherine to the woman at the heavy bag, who stopped beating the bag and embraced Catherine warmly. 

“This is Ann. Ann, this is Bob.” 

“Pleased to meet you,” said Ann, swallowing the impulse to ask why she was named Bob. 

“Well, wait until I'm finished with you before you make any pronouncements,” replied Bob with a wry grin as she rubbed her forehead with a muscly arm.

Catherine patted Ann's arm then headed over to the exercise bike in the free weight area. Ann wondered what, exactly, she was in for. 

 

*** *** *** *** *** *** 

After an hour with Bob, Ann could barely remember her own name. The trainer had had her do jump rope drills and pushups to warm up, then had put her through some complicated calistenics that put Ann in mind of army training. Finally, after Ann was winded and regretting her decision to keep smoking, Bob taped up her hands and slipped a pair of battered boxing gloves onto them. 

Ann learned how to square up, how to jab, and how to keep moving her feet before Bob let her take a turn on the speed bag. Finally getting to hit something, to actually hit something and feel the force reverberate up her arm, made something deep inside her sing, even as it longed for something more. 

After the speed bag, Bob led her over to the heavy bag and gave her some instructions on upper-cuts and hooks and crosses. 

“The form will come. The main thing is to pretend like you're trying to punch through the bag,” said Bob as she took up a spot behind the bag to hold it steady. “And try to keep your feet moving like I showed you.”

Ann took a deep breath and focused on the bag. Her arms felt heavy and her legs were like lead, but she started moving her feet and then began throwing punches. She quickly found the something more that she had longed for. It was a release and a lot of grief and stress came pouring out through her gloved hands.

The rest of the gym faded from her peripheral vision and all that existed was her and the bag. She let Bob's encouraging instruction guide her actions, but mostly she just let her body do what felt right: to beat the bloody thing like it was a scrote who was soon to be nothing but pulp. 

“All right there, I think you've had enough for one day. Cool down by walking on the treadmill for a few minutes. Maybe you'll come back next week?”

Ann found she was too out of breath to do anything but nod. She went over to the treadmill and started walking, slowly, waiting for her racing heart and panting breath to match the machine's slow pace. She was dimly aware of Catherine having a word with Bob before coming over to her.

“How was that then?”

“Good. I never knew this place was here.”

“It's not a place most would look for, but it's a good place for them that need it.”

Ann smiled. “Well, I guess I really needed it.”

“I reckoned that you did. Listen, I get what happened with that scrote, but it can't happen again. These scrotes, they gossip worse than old women.”

“But then isn't it a good thing?” asked Ann, stopping on the treadmill even as the conveyer belt carried her back. Catherine reached over and turned the machine off. 

“A good thing?” echoed Catherine, holding a clean towel out to Ann.

She took the towel and wiped her face. “Yeah. If they know I'd do that, then maybe none of them will chance grabbing me.”

“Seems like it should work that way. But it's a fine line between putting a head on a stick to warn the others and just giving them a button to press.”

“So you're saying I should just let them grab my ass?” Ann stepped off the treadmill and walked with Catherine out of the gym. She blinked in the bright sunlight. 

“No, I'm not saying that at all. But I am saying that an over-reaction lets them know that there's a button to press. So try not to make a habit of over-reacting. A belt in the gut is one thing. A torch to the goolies is quite another.”

“So you've taken me here to get my aggression out.”

“Aye. And give you some technique. I don't figure they taught proper punching technique at any of those fancy schools Nev sent you to.”

Ann smiled. “That never quite made it on the curriculum. No.”

“Bob's helped me more than she'll ever know. If she helps you half as much, it's time well-spent. Now, how about we get out of here and pick up some buttys on the way home?”

“I'm starving,” said Ann as she got into the car, glad that she had Catherine looking out for her.


End file.
